to a treacherous summer night, the air lazy and a little moon
above transfigured maples.

"Let's drive some other place, where we can get a drink and dance!" he
demanded.

"Sure, some other night. But I promised Ma I'd be home early to-night."

"Rats! It's too nice to go home."

"I'd just love to, but Ma would give me fits."

He was trembling. She was everything that was young and exquisite. He
put his arm about her. She snuggled against his shoulder, unafraid,
and he was triumphant. Then she ran down the steps of the Inn, singing,
"Come on, Georgie, we'll have a nice drive and get cool."

It was a night of lovers. All along the highway into Zenith, under the
low and gentle moon, motors were parked and dim figures were clasped in
revery. He held out hungry hands to Ida, and when she patted them he was
grateful. There was no sense of struggle and transition; he kissed her
and simply she responded to his kiss, they two behind the stolid back of
the chauffeur.

Her hat fell off, and she broke from his embrace to reach for it.

"Oh, let it be!" he implored.

"Huh? My hat? Not a chance!"

He waited till she had pinned it on, then his arm sank about her. She
drew away from it, and said with maternal soothing, "Now, don't be a
silly boy! Mustn't make Ittle Mama scold! Just sit back, dearie, and see
what a swell night it is. If you're a good boy, maybe I'll kiss you when
we say nighty-night. Now give me a cigarette."

He was solicitous about lighting her cigarette and inquiring as to
her comfort. Then he sat as far from her as possible. He was cold with
failure. No one could have told Babbitt that he was a fool with more
vigor, precision, and intelligence than he himself displayed. He
reflected that from the standpoint of the Rev. Dr. John Jennison Drew
he was a wicked man, and from the standpoint of Miss Ida Putiak, an old
bore who had to be endured as the penalty attached to eating a large
dinner.

"Dearie, you aren't going to go and get peevish, are you?"

She spoke pertly. He wanted to spank her. He brooded, "I don't have to
take anything off this gutter-pup! Darn immigrant! Well, let's get it
over as quick as we can, and sneak home and kick ourselves for the rest
of the night."

He snorted, "Huh? Me peevish? Why, you baby, why should I be peevish?
Now, listen, Ida; listen to Uncle George. I want to put you wise about
this scrapping with your head-barber all the time. I've had a lot
of experience with empl